Deep Breathing
by Dannyblue
Summary: Story 4 added. Wyatt's feelings for Chris have changed. Contains slashy ovetones.
1. Story 1: Deep Breathing

**Title:** Deep Breathing  
**Author:** Dannyblue  
**Email:** Wyatt and Chris must share a room. This takes place in the future. Not the original one (because Chris is 15, but Piper is alive and well), and not the one the nice, well-adjusted (until he went temporarily, sexily evil) Wyatt we saw in "Imaginary Fiends" comes from. After all, according to CHARMED, the future is far from set in stone.  
Rating: R

**Warnings:** Some sexual content. Some incestuous thoughts. This will also be my first foray into slash territory.  
**Disclaimer:** CHARMED and its characters do not belong to me. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.  
**Distribution:** All you have to do is ask.  
**Feedback:** Yes, please.  
**Author's Note:** Where did this fic come from? Well, I haven't been able to get really excited about any of my story ideas for a while. Everything I started seemed like I'd written it before, and I'd quickly lose interest in finishing. So, I thought, "Well, try something completely different. Think of all the types of stories you never thought you'd write, and _write one_!" So, here we go.

* * *

Chris just kept…_breathing_.

Wyatt Halliwell glared angrily at the ceiling fan spinning serenely overhead. Not like the fan was helping anyway. It wasn't hot enough for the air conditioner, or so their mother said. But despite the ceiling fan, and the soft breeze flowing through the partially opened window, a fine sheen of sweat covered his skin. He was hot, and annoyed, and he just wanted some sleep. But it was looking less and less like that was going to happen anytime soon.

Wyatt turned his glare towards the neighboring bed. While Wyatt was hidden in shadows, Chris—whose bed was closer to the window—was bathed in silver-blue moonlight. And he was tucked pretty good under a sheet, despite how warm the room was, the only part of him showing the top of his dark head.

Wyatt's jaw clenched. Chris was over there, as snug as a bug in a rug, sleeping as peacefully as a newborn baby. A 747 could come crashing through the window, and it probably wouldn't wake him. Yet Wyatt, as tired as he was, couldn't get to sleep because of Chris's damned _breathing._

With an angry sigh, Wyatt turned over onto his side, so that his back was facing the window, and his younger brother's bed. Pulling the pillow over his head, he pressed it tight against his ear.

If only their parents hadn't agreed to keep the cousins while Aunt Paige and her husband went on one of their little romantic getaways. Then, Wyatt would be in his own room, in his own bed, fast asleep.

Although, it wasn't like this was the first time the brothers had shared a room. They'd shared until the aunts moved out, in fact. And someone (the aunts, the cousins, grandpa) always seemed to be staying over for the night. It was why Chris's room had double beds. It made it more convenient when Wyatt needed to bunk down with him. So, really, he'd been sleeping in the same room as his brother, off and on, for 15 years. Fifteen years, and he'd never noticed the breathing before. It was just background noise, a night sound as familiar—and comforting—as the old house creaking while everything else was still. Something he was so used to, he didn't even notice it.

Until now.

And, even with the pillow pressed over his head, he could still hear Chris breathing. In and out, in and out. Like soft little sighs filling the room.

Groaning softly, Wyatt gave up. Putting the pillow back under his head, he flung himself over onto his back, threw one well-muscled arm over his eyes. He tried to take his mind off of Chris's breathing by thinking about the test he had tomorrow. The test he would probably fail if he didn't get some sleep.

Then, the test was forgotten. Because Chris took a long, deep breath—longer and deeper than anyone should be capable of—and it was like he was whispering, whispering words too soft to hear, lips almost brushing against Wyatt's ear. And his phantom breath sent a shiver down Wyatt's back, Made his stomach clench, almost like he'd been punched in the gut, and it was all he could do not to moan out loud.

Then, Chris exhaled. And, even though Wyatt knew it was the ceiling fan, the soft breeze coming through the open window, it felt like a thousand warm little breaths were suddenly dancing across his naked, sweat-dampened chest, his arms, his neck. And he shivered again, as all those tiny little breaths made every nerve in every inch of skin tingle.

And Chris was still breathing—in and out, in and out. And every little breath made Wyatt's skin a little hotter, made his stomach clench a little harder.

Reaching down, Wyatt grabbed the thin sheet that he'd pushed down to his waist hours ago. He clenched the crisp fabric in one powerful fist, squeezing until his nails dug into his palm. He had to think of something else. Anything else. Not the test. That hadn't worked. So, think about that part-time job he'd considered applying for. Or…Tracy! Think of Tracy. Tracy with her long, blond hair and sky blue eyes. And the smile that could light up a room. When he first saw her, he thought she had the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen.

Well, almost. Because Chris's smile didn't just light up a room. It seemed to light up the whole world. Sometimes, Chris would smile, and Wyatt stopped breathing. Just stopped. Like his brain was too busy basking in that smile's warm glow to bother doing anything else.

And, suddenly, all Wyatt could see was Chris's smile. And other things, too. Like the way he looked when he was really angry, green eyes so bright and clear they seemed to sparkle. And the way he looked diving into a pool, his long, lean body slicing through the water.

"No, dammit!" Wyatt hissed, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids, and trying to push the images away. Because there were things a brother shouldn't want. Things a brother shouldn't…need. His head knew that. _He_ knew that. But something else deep inside, something dangerous and dark, had other ideas. It was hungry, and it wanted to be fed. And it didn't seem to care how hard Wyatt fought against those thoughts. Tried to deny and ignore those feelings. It just hungered, and craved, and wanted. And, at night, it was so much harder to fight...

And Chris was still breathing. In and out, in and out…

Taking a deep breath of his own, Wyatt let go of the sheet, and pressed his hand against his stomach. His fingers splayed against the taught skin, almost caressing his well-defined abs. (He could almost hear Chris teasing him about working out so much. "Some guys will do anything to get the chicks," he'd say, then he'd snicker as Wyatt took a swat at his head.)

He let his hand rest on his stomach for a while, moving in slow circles, a part of him still pretending he wasn't about to…

Then Chris let out this soft, sleepy sigh that zipped like electric current straight to Wyatt's core. It was like a physical shock, that made the older teen gasp out loud.

Wyatt squeezed his eyes shut, some part of him still resistant, whispering for him to stop. But slowly, inch by painful inch, he let his hand slip beneath the light sheet that covered his lower body. Slip beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

And he tried to convince himself this was just like all those other times. He was a healthy teen-aged boy, after all. This was hardly the first time he'd done this. Only, he'd never done it when his brother was in the same room before. Right in the next bed. He'd never done it while focusing on the sound of Chris breathing, every inhale and exhale filling his head until there was nothing else. Whispers and sighs surrounding him on every side, invisible caresses touching him, stroking him in rhythm with the hand under the covers.

The ache deep inside grew, pressure building as every nerve ending seemed to scream to life. And he was panting, the sounds of his own breathing—quick and harsh—mixing with Chris's, filling the room…and making Wyatt want even more.

It was like a storm, building in strength, in intensity, swelling up inside him until he wanted to scream. And, when the storm finally broke…

Wyatt threw his head back, pressing it deep into the pillow. His back arched as waves of pleasure crashed over him, harder and better than anything he'd ever felt before. His free hand clenched at the bed, fisting in the wrinkled sheets. As his head twisted from side to side, he clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out.

Gasping for air, he let the images fill his head. Images of dark hair, and green eyes. A long, lean body. And that smile…

And one name kept echoing through his head…

_Chris. _

* * *

Chris woke with a start.

Still half a sleep, he lifted his head.

"What…?" For a moment, he frowned, unsure of what woke him up. Then, he remembered he wasn't sleeping alone in his bedroom tonight. "Wyatt?" Squinting in the dark, he looked towards his older brother's bed, unable to see anything because Wyatt's bed was in the shadows.

There was a long pause. For a second, he thought Wyatt was asleep, and he hadn't heard what he thought he'd heard.

"What is it, Chris?" And Wyatt's voice sounded strange. Kind of deep and husky. He was probably still half asleep, too.

Yawning, Chris reached up to rub his tired eyes. "I thought I heard you say my name."

Another long pause. Then, "Because you were snoring."

Any other time, Chris would've taken issue with that. He did _not_ snore…he was pretty sure. But he was way too tired to argue about it right now. "Oh. Sorry."

"Go back to sleep, little brother."

"'Kay," Chris mumbled, snuggling back under the sheet. No matter how warm it was he always liked to have something over him when he slept.

He was just drifting off again when he heard Wyatt get out of bed and leave the room. He was probably going to the bathroom. Or to get a snack. Considering the excellent shape he was in, people wouldn't believe how much Wyatt could pig out sometimes. His idea of a late night snack was a burger and fries.

Smiling a little, Chris settled in to go back to sleep. He always slept best on nights when he shared a room with Wyatt. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because they'd shared a room for so long when they were younger.

Or maybe he just felt safer when his big brother was nearby.

**THE END**


	2. Story 2: Reflections

**Title:** Reflections  
**Author:** Dannyblue  
**Email:** Sequel to "Deep Breathing".

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warnings:** Slashy and incestuous overtones.  
**Disclaimer:** CHARMED and its characters do not belong to me. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.  
**Distribution:** All you have to do is ask.  
**Feedback:** Yes, please.  
**Author's Note:** I didn't intend to write a sequel to "Deep Breathing". But muses are funny thing; they take you where _they_ want you to go.

"A date?" Wyatt said, as if he'd never heard the word before.

"Okay, not really a date," Chris admitted absently, his mind obviously on something other than his big brother. He was like a whirlwind moving around the room, rummaging through drawers, ducking in and out of the closet. "Debbie's this new girl at school, and we've been kind of getting to know each other. Well, today, we started talking about this new movie we both want to see and, before you know it, we'd decided to go together this afternoon."

Wyatt barely heard him over the sound of the blood rushing through his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. But he heard enough.

"Oh," he said as he slowly sat on the edge of the twin bed he'd…slept in just the week before. Memories of that night made his hands shake a little, made it that much harder to act like nothing was wrong. Not that Chris would notice. "I thought you and I were going to see that movie this weekend. You know, together."

"Yeah, I know." He shrugged dismissively as he slammed a drawer shut. "But I figured you wouldn't mind. Besides, if I really like it, I can go see it with you, too."

"Right," Wyatt said, dredging up a 'whatever' smile from somewhere. But it felt more like a grimace, a painful facial spasm, than a real smile. "Mom's letting you go on a date on a school night?"

"When I called the club, she said it would be fine. It's still early yet, and I'll only be gone two or three hours. There'll be plenty of time to do the little bit of homework I have."

Wyatt could only nod to show he was listening. But the name of this faceless girl echoed through his head. _Debbie. Debbie._ He wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd ever met her, seen her. But it was a big school. And, if she was new…

"Oh, by the way." A bundle of clothes in his arms, Chris turned to his older brother. "Tracy called. She said she knows you remember her number, even though you've been acting like you don't lately, and you better use it today or you can forget getting within touching distance of her ever again." Chris grinned. "I don't know what you did to tick her off, but I'd start dialing if I were you." Apparently highly amused by his older brother's romantic life, Chris snickered as he sauntered out of the room.

Wyatt sat on that bed for a long time, staring at nothing. For a moment, he thought about Tracy. Beautiful Tracy with the gorgeous smile, who he'd all but ignored the last few days. He hadn't meant to. He really did like her. It was just that, well, he'd had other things on his mind.

Just like he did now.

_Debbie. Debbie._

That name echoed in his head, like a scream through an empty cave. Such a simple, ordinary name. Harmless. Boring even.

So why was it cutting into him like razor blades, slicing through his insides, making it hard to breathe?

Leaning forward, Wyatt rested his elbows on his thighs. Eyes closed, he pressed his fingertips against his temples, and tried to will this pain away. This clenching, gnawing, sinking ache in his stomach, like a black pit trying to drag him in.

It wasn't like Chris had never gone on dates before. And, even when it first started to bother him, Wyatt hadn't known _why_ it bothered him back then, so it was easy to pretend it really didn't. Easy to push those feelings away. Easy to smile, and laugh, and tease Chris about his little girlfriends when he got home.

But that was before. Things were different now.

Just then, he heard the shower come on. And he could see it in his minds eye. Chris stripping bare. Taking off his shirt to reveal the smooth, unblemished skin of his chest. Then his jeans, making a soft, whispering sound as they slid, like silk, down his long, lean legs. Completely unaware of his brother sitting here, imagining and…wanting.

And the pain wasn't fading. It was sinking in, deeper and deeper.

Sighing, Wyatt lifted his head and opened his eyes. And his gaze was caught by flash of royal blue.

Standing, walked over to the dresser. The t-shirt Chris wore yesterday was lying there, a bundle atop a stack of sports magazines and comic books. Wyatt picked it up, clutching it so tight he imagined he could feel every wrinkle and crease. As he stared at it, he imagined it draping across Chris's shoulders, his arms, his chest. Imagined it absorbing Chris's heat, pulling his essence into every fiber and stitch.

Closing his eyes, Wyatt lifted the shirt to his face, pressed his nose into the soft cotton and breathed deep. He could smell sweat, clean and musky. He could smell the deodorant Chris used. And he could smell…Chris.

He took another deep breath, and it was like Chris was everywhere. Around him, and inside of him. Flowing through him like warm honey. Sinking into all the dark, deep places.

And for one long, blissful moment, he was lost, and there was only Chris's scent, and the images of Chris in the shower, surrounded by steam and mist, hot water and soap suds cascading down his naked body.

_Debbie._

Wyatt's eyes snapped open, the memory of that name snapping him back to jarring reality.

Teeth clenched, he glared at his own reflection…because he couldn't glare at _her_. He'd never seen her, so he didn't even have a face to hate. Just a name. A plain, boring, razor-sharp name, still cutting him up inside.

He lowered the shirt, wringing it around his fists, strangling it between his hands. And his reflection was staring back at him, face blank and cold, but brown eyes burning. His jaw muscle twitched as he ground his teeth. Biceps tightened as he clutched at the shirt.

_Debbie. Debbie. Debbie!_

Wyatt's fist slammed into the mirror, the sound of shattering glass filling the room like a gunshot. Cracks spreading out from the point of impact like ripples across water.

Taking a step back, he breathed deep to try to calm himself.

And hot, angry eyes watched rivulets of blood trickle down the glass.

* * *

"I'm late," Chris murmured as he hurried back into his bedroom.

Shaking his head, he jogged over to the dresser. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten his wallet. Oh, yeah. Debbie having to pay for his ticket and snacks would've made a _great_ impression on their first date.

_Not a date,_ his brain reminded him. _Just two new friends hanging out…for now._

As he grabbed his wallet, something caught his eye. Amongst the clutter spread across his dresser, something sparkled.

Puzzled, Chris picked it up. It was a shard of glass. No. A piece of broken mirror.

"Where did _you _come from?" he muttered. His room might be a little cluttered (but nothing compared to some of his friends) but he was sure he wouldn't have missed something like this.

Frowning, Chris looked up at the dresser mirror, where the shard would most logically have come from. Only, the mirror was completely whole and unbroken. So, where did the shard come from?

His first thought was "demon", because that's the kind of thought you had when you were a Halliwell. But why would a demon leave a piece of shattered mirror on his dresser?

"I broke it."

Startled, Chris spun around to find Wyatt standing in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest. "Geez, Wy! Warn a guy."

Normally, Wyatt would have laughed, teasing and smug that he'd been able to catch his little brother by surprise. But, this time, he only shrugged. "Sorry."

"Yeah, yeah," Chris said, rolling his eyes. Then, what Wyatt said really sunk in. "You broke my mirror?" And he turned to look at the mirror in question, which definitely wasn't broken.

"I fixed it with a spell," Wyatt said. "But I guess I missed a piece."

"Well, thanks for the fixing. But how in the world did you break my mirror?" Then, as he realized an explanation would take time—and he was already late—he held up his hand. "Never mind. You can tell me later."

Heading for the door, Chris dropped the piece of broken mirror into the trash bin. "I'll see you later, Wy."

"Yeah. Have a nice time."

Too preoccupied to hear the chill in those words, Chris just smiled at his big brother as he brushed past him. "I intend to."

The shard of glass already forgotten, Chris jogged down the stairs, every thought focused on Debbie, and making a good impression on her.

It would be three days before he realized his navy blue t-shirt was missing.

THE END


	3. Story 3: Forced To See

**Title:** Forced To See  
**Author:** Dannyblue  
**Pairings:** Unrequited Wyatt/Chris. Minor Chris/OC.  
**Warnings:** Slashy thoughts. Incestuous longings.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** General spoilers for _Charmed_.  
**Summary:** One-shot. Sequel to Deep Breathing and Reflections. Wyatt deals with his feelings.

It was like he was blind, scabs covering his eyes, keeping him from seeing. Then, one day, someone dug their fingers in deep, and ripped the scabs away.

Wyatt stopped dead in his tracks on the walkway. He couldn't breathe, yet there was a scent. An acrid, bitter stench that made his stomach turn. He couldn't feel, but there was cold, like ice water running through his veins, freezing him from the inside. And he couldn't see anything but them. Like the world had gone dark except for the spotlight shining on the front porch. Making sure he could see.

See Chris kissing that girl.

He couldn't remember most of what happened after that. Except that the kiss seemed to go on forever. And there was this ache, worse than any pain he'd suffered fighting demons. Like someone had planted a stake in his chest, and it was digging and twisting, plunging deeper and deeper. The pain was piercing and sharp. All-consuming, because the rest of his body had gone numb.

They must have seen him, finally, because the girl let out a startled squeak and pulled away from his brother. And Chris said something like, "Geez, Wyatt! A little privacy."

He remembered acting like nothing was wrong. Joking and teasing, threatening to let something slip that would embarrass his little brother in front of this new girl he so obviously liked.

Chris introduced them. And, as it turned out, this was Debbie. The same girl Chris dumped Wyatt to go to the movies with. And Wyatt could almost understand why. Because Debbie, with her strawberry blond curls and hazel eyes, was a very pretty girl, just the type to catch his brother's eye.

As Wyatt stood there, acting like he didn't care, he wanted nothing more that to plant his fist in the middle of all that pretty.

They all went inside. Because, apparently, Debbie was there to work on some school project with Chris.

When Mom and Dad met her, they got these sappy looks on their faces. Like, "Aw, isn't that sweet. Chris brought home a girl." They were watching Chris and Debbie—little, knowing smiles on their faces—like they were the cutest thing they'd ever seen. Like they'd forgotten that, at 15, their youngest son was a walking, talking hormone,

And Wyatt thought, _Yeah, I wonder how "sweet" and "romantic" you'd think it was if you could look inside Chris's head right now. Your youngest son is a fifteen year-old, walking, talking hormone. I bet he has more on his mind for Debbie than holding hands and chaste kisses with their mouths closed. He probably spends most of his time trying to think of some way to get between this little bitch's legs. And, from what I saw, she'd let him._

And, suddenly, she wasn't such a pretty girl anymore. She was something revolting. Repulsive. and unclean. And the thought of Chris touching her—of Chris _wanting_ to touch her—made him sick.

Wyatt left then, because his body was humming with power and emotion. And his fingers were twitching, so eager to give that power release. It was all still too raw, the image of that kiss frozen in his memory. And he didn't think he had enough control to deal with this. Not yet.

CCCCCCCCCC

He didn't remember how many demons he killed that night. He could've killed more if he'd gone to the underworld. But, if Chris stopped sensing him, he'd want to know what had happened, what was important enough for his brother to make such a dangerous trip alone. And Wyatt didn't think he could handle that kind of confrontation right now, not without letting something slip.

But it wasn't a problem. There were plenty of demons in the upper world. And Wyatt called them to him like a siren. It was easy, really. Mask most of his power, but let just enough leak through. Some demons were attracted to the image he was projecting. A pretty young witch with just enough magic to get their attention, but not powerful enough to be a real threat to them.

Wyatt orbed all over the city, from one night club to the next, dancing and drinking. Letting one demon after another catch his scent. Then, he'd wander out into the alley alone, like he was just too young and stupid to know better. They all followed him. One, or two, sometimes even three at a time. And they all regretted it.

Only one demon stood out from the rest. He was tall and lanky, almost too thin. His dark hair was a little too long, and green eyes sparkled from a youthful face.

He looked innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the way he looked at his prey.

"Hey," the demon said, giving Wyatt a suggestive smile. "What's your name?" Appreciative eyes lingering on the tight t-shirt that did little to hide the young witch's muscular chest.

"I'm Matthew," Wyatt said, making himself sound…interested.

The demon smiled suggestively. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Matthew. I'm Nathan."

Wyatt let himself be seduced. Let Nathan ply him with drinks. Let himself be pulled onto the dance floor, where the demon did nothing to hide his interest. Using the crowded dance floor as an excuse, Nathan pressed his body close to Wyatt's, hands wandering all over the younger man's chest, and waist, and hips. And Wyatt let him.

The demon didn't look like Chris. Not really. But his hair was the same, and his eyes were close. The lights were low in the club, and when Nathan turned his head a certain way…

"Let's go somewhere a little more private," the demon said, pressing his hips close to let Wyatt know exactly what he meant.

As Wyatt let himself be led towards the back of the club, he could feel the lust coming off of Nathan, like a tangible thing. It was probably a toss up which lust was greater. The lust to screw Wyatt into a wall, or the lust to kill him slow while he fed on his power.

Hell, he probably wanted to do all three at the same time.

As soon as they got into the alley, the demon grabbed Wyatt's arms, moved in for a kiss.

Planting a hand in the center of the demon's chest, Wyatt pushed him away.

"Hey. Don't get shy on me now, Matthew." Nathan's smile was coaxing, his voice persuasive. "We both know you want it."

"Actually, I want something else," Wyatt said. Then he said something that was pure Chris. "You should really learn more about the guys you pick up in bars, you know?"

Wyatt dropped his shields. And the demon gasped as it felt the full force of his power.

"By the way, my name isn't Matthew. It's Wyatt." Then, he smiled cold as ice. "Halliwell."

And Nathan's eyes grew wide with fear, the full magnitude of his fuck up sinking in in an instant.

Before the demon could shimmer or flame away, Wyatt struck.

Usually, Wyatt vanquished demons quick and clean. He got no pleasure out of making them suffer. All that mattered was banishing them, saving innocents, protecting his family.

But, tonight was different. Tonight, he felt like making someone suffer.

Nathan died painful and slow. Died screaming.

And Wyatt wondered what Debbie's screams would sound like.

CCCCCCCCCC

That night, Wyatt lay in bed, trying to convince himself his demon-killing spree had gotten it all out of his system. That he wasn't angry anymore. At least, not angry enough to want to make Chris hurt the way Wyatt was hurting. Because he loved his brother and would never hurt Chris, no matter what he did.

Never.

But, somewhere deep inside, he knew it was a lie.

**THE END**


	4. Story 4: After Midnight

**Title:** After Midnight

**Series: **Story 4 in the "Deep Breathing" series.

**Author:** Dannyblue

**Pairings:** Unrequited Wyatt/Chris. Mentions of Wyatt/OC.

**Warnings: **Slashy thoughts. Incestuous longings.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Spoilers:** General spoilers for Charmed.

**Summary:** One-shot.

**AN: **I don't know why, but I was inspired to write another one-shot for this story. There I was, thinking up ideas for a Gen story featuring Chris and Wyatt, but this popped out instead. Ah, well, you can't fight the muse. Enjoy!

* * *

Wyatt had made a space for himself beneath the windows, between the desk on his left and an old, beat up chair on his right. Seated on the floor with his back pressed against the wall, arms crossed to ward off the slight chill in the air, he just sat...and watched.

The moon was almost full tonight. Its soft light flowed through the windows to cast its silver-blue glow upon the bed.

Chris was lying on his back, his head and one arm the only parts of him not hidden under a blanket. And his expression was relaxed and serene as he slept.

It was funny in a way. Anyone else entering the room--whether through the door or by magical means--would've had Chris awake and alert, at least enough to lift his head, crack one eye open, and see whether the intruder was a threat or not. Wyatt had seen him react that way to everyone. Cousins. Aunts. Sometimes even Mom and Dad.

But not Wyatt. Whether Wyatt walked or orbed in, Chris wouldn't stir from his slumber. It was like, even in the deepest sleep, he knew who it was. Knew he had nothing to fear because it was Wyatt. And, awake or asleep, Chris instinctively trusted his brother.

A bitter smile twisted Wyatt's lips as he let his head fall back to rest against the wall. Chris trusted him. The stab of guilt that knowledge caused was just one more thing to add to the swirl of emotions cutting him up inside.

As he watched Chris through half-lidded eyes, Wyatt pressed his hand to the spot above his heart, rubbing his chest through the thin white t-shirt he'd chosen to sleep in tonight, before he realized sleep wasn't really an option and had found himself sitting here instead.

His heart thudded, hard and heavy, beneath his palm.

Wyatt had always been a pretty light-hearted guy. Happy. Content with his life. And He had things many people could only dream of. A wonderful family. Popularity. A great girlfriend. And a brother who was his best friend.

What did he have to be unhappy about?

Only, now, this pressure had settled like a weight on his chest and refused to go away. In fact, every day, it got heavier.

Wyatt knew what that weight was. It was need for things he shouldn't want. And shame that he couldn't make that need go away, no matter how hard he fought it. No matter how wrong he knew it was.

And it was wrong to be sitting here on the cold floor, in the middle of the night, staring at his brother, and wanting nothing more than to touch him. It was wrong that the shame and guilt wasn't what was stopping him. No, the only thing stopping him was the knowledge that if he gave in to temptation, if he let himself cross the short distance to the bed, let his hands sneak under the blankets to caress that sleep-warmed skin, Chris would wake up.

Chris would wake up, and Chris would know, and Chris would hate him.

Wyatt's hand balled into a fist, and ground so hard into his chest he knew he'd find bruises there in the morning. The thought of Chris hating him, looking at him with disgust and revulsion in those crystal green eyes, made it hard to breathe, blurred his vision with tears.

_Stop this now!_ an angry voice screamed inside his head. _Leave, right now! Go back to your own damned room, and do whatever the hell you have to do to get rid of these feelings. _

But he didn't move. Didn't leave. Instead, he sat for hours on the cold floor, his back pressed against the cold wall. And he watched.

* * *

As far as Chris Halliwell was concerned, there was nothing better than a bowl of ice cream in the middle of the night. It was just a scientific fact.

So there he sat, at the kitchen table, enjoying every spoonful of a ridiculously big bowl of rocky road.

It was after midnight, and the parents had long since turned in. There was a time when Mom would never have gone to bed while Wyatt was still out on a date. But, about six months ago, Dad finally convinced her that, at seventeen, Wyatt was a big boy who could be trusted to be home by curfew. And, since he was one of the most powerful magical being_ever_, he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Chris grimaced as he wondered how long it would take Dad to convince Mom she didn't have wait up when _her peanut_ was out on a date.

"Yeah, that's never gonna happen," he sighed, but there was a slight smile on his face as he said it.

He was almost finished with his midnight treat when he heard the car pull up outside, breaking the silence of the otherwise quiet neighborhood. Sounded like Wyatt was home, and well before curfew, too, of course. It would never occur to Wyatt _not_ to get home before curfew.

Shaking his head, Chris kept eating, knowing Wyatt would see the kitchen light on and come in to see who was up.

When Wyatt's form filled the kitchen doorway, Chris glanced up, grinning and all ready to ask Wyatt if anything interesting had happened on his date.

But the look on Wyatt's face froze the words on Chris's lips.

Wyatt didn't look like a guy just home from a great date with his beautiful girlfriend. Instead he looked...broken, face grim and shoulders hunched.

Chris's grin faded away. "Hey."

"Hey," Wyatt said, sounding tired. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, he came further into the room. "You're still up."

"Yeah. Just pigging out, you know?" Serious green eyes studied his brother's serious countenance. "Something wrong?"

Wyatt was silent for a long moment, eyes staring at the floor. Finally he looked up, a weak smile quirking his lips for a brief second. "Me and Tracy broke up."

Chris gasped, eyes widening in shock as the words sank in. Broke up? Wyatt and Tracy? "No way!"

"Yeah. We, uh...We decided to call it quits." He glanced at Chris briefly before his eyes slid away.

Chris couldn't believe it. For a whole year it had been Wyatt and Tracy. Tracy and Wyatt. A whole year! You didn't date someone for a whole year unless you were serious, right? And, as far as Chris could tell, they were happy. They didn't bicker or fight or anything. In fact, everyone at school thought they were the perfect couple.

So why the sudden break up?

Eyes narrowed, Chris studied his brother's face. Considering how miserable Wyatt looked, Tracy was probably the one who broke it off. Although Chris couldn't imagine Wyatt doing something that would make a girl suddenly break up with him, like cheating or anything like that. No way.

Shaking his head, Chris stood up. "Man, Wyatt. That sucks."

"Yeah." Again, Wyatt looked at Chris for a split second before quickly glancing away.

Chris frowned in confusion. It was like Wyatt couldn't look him in the eyes or something.

_Guess he's embarrassed about being dumped,_ Chris realized.

Feeling bad for his big brother, Chris quickly covered the distance between them. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Wyatt said again, eyes staring down at the floor between them. "I just...just..." And he stopped, like he just couldn't talk anymore, throat working as he tried to swallow down the emotions that had stolen his voice.

_Oh, man, _Chris thought, alarmed as he realized Wyatt, his big brother, was fighting not to cry.

Like any fifteen year old male, Chris panicked in the face of such an emotional, chick-flicky moment. But Wyatt was his brother, and Chris would always be there for him. Whether that meant having his back in a demon fight, or helping him deal with getting dumped.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, resting his hand on Wyatt's arm.

And it was like something broke. Wyatt's face crumpled with emotion as he took a quick step forward, bending down to wrap his arms around Chris's body, burying his face in Chris's shoulder.

For a moment, Chris was too startled to do anything. But the sound of Wyatt's muffled sobs made him react, wrapping his own arms around his big brother.

"It's okay," he said as he patted Wyatt's back comfortingly. Because it was the only thing he could think to do. "It's okay."

For some reason, this made Wyatt cry harder, made him hold Chris tighter.

Most of the time, Chris almost forgot how much bigger than him Wyatt really was. How much taller he was. How much more solidly built.

But being _engulfed_ in Wyatt's massive embrace, being held so tight it was a getting a little hard to breath, Wyatt's superior size was pretty hard to ignore.

But Chris didn't complain. Wyatt had always been there for Chris, and Chris was always going to be there for Wyatt. And, if this would help his brother through his first major heartbreak, a few bruised ribs were a small price to pay.

* * *

Even when the tears stopped, Wyatt held on, realizing this was the closest he'd been to Chris since that first night.

Tracy breaking up with him had taken him by surprise. Not that he blamed her. He'd been ignoring her, head so filled with someone else he couldn't give her the attention she deserved. Like tonight, he'd spent their date in a daze, not talking to her, not hearing her when she tried to talk to him.

He didn't blame her for breaking up with him. But he did really care about her, so it had hurt none the less.

But it wasn't just Tracy that made him break down. It was everything. The break up. The weight of guilt pressing against his chest. The compassion in Chris's eyes. Fear that that compassion would one day turn into hate. And the need burning hotter than ever, so hot he felt like it was trying to burn him up from the inside.

Wyatt lifted his head enough to rest his cheek against Chris's hair. Taking a deep breath, letting it out in a soft sigh, he closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the feel, the warmth, of Chris in his arms, committing it to memory. Knowing that, soon, his brother would start to pull away.

And he would have to find the strength to let go.

**The End**


End file.
